Winter Warmers
by Timeless A-Peel
Summary: A collection of seasonal TNA vignettes to keep you warm on long winter nights. Bit fluffy, but 'tis the season.
1. 1976

Winter Warmers

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Here we are, as promised-Christmassy fic! Or fic set around the Christmas/winter period generally, I suppose. These are just some fluffy little vignettes for the season, each set in a different year with a focus on a particular relationship within the triumvirate. There are four in all, and I'll post one a day in the run-up to the big day. Hope you enjoy them! I recommend reading with something warm to drink and some festive music in the background. :-)

* * *

**1976**

Purdey manoeuvred herself into the Ministry's break room, and sank into one of the chairs at the table with a sigh of relief. Outside, in the corridor, the burble of voices and din of Christmas music continued as the Ministry's office party rolled on without her. This being an institution responsible for national security, things weren't permitted to get _too_ crazy, but people were doing their very best to dance just this side of the boundary between 'acceptable' and 'suspension.' Inevitably, there was alcohol involved, and for Purdey, the flirting from her fellow agents had been stepped up a notch, much to her annoyance. The first hour was tolerable enough, but once the drink had really started flowing, things had started to take a turn for the worst, and Purdey found herself in desperate need of a break from the passes and not-so-subtle meaningful glances. She was liable to start stomping on in-steps otherwise.

Purdey leaned back in her chair and let the tension leave her shoulders, finally felt in a position to enjoy her eggnog in peace, when the break room door creaked, and she heard footsteps behind her. Purdey sighed in exasperation and twisted around to give whoever it was that had followed her in a piece of her mind, only to find a friendly face smiling benevolently back at her.

"Oh, Steed," Purdey said, not bothering to hide her relief. "I thought you were one of the others."

"Others?" Steed inquired, coming over to take the seat across from her.

"Others. Our vast stable highly trained, efficient agents, who magically lose the ability to understand the meaning of the word 'no' after a few laced eggnogs."

"Ah, I see," Steed replied knowingly. "No one's overstepped the line too egregiously, I hope?"

"Not yet," Purdey told him. "If someone had, you'd know. He'd be the one lying on the floor with his back broken in three places." She couldn't help but smirk when Steed laughed in response to the line. "Don't think I wouldn't," she added.

Steed's eyes widened disingenuously. "I don't doubt you for a moment, my dear. Rest assured, I'm not here to accost you in any way, shape, or form. I shall keep my hands strictly to myself."

"Oh, you I trust," Purdey dismissed. "Even if I know you're not quite the gentleman you'd have everyone believe."

"Dear me. Who told you?"

"I worked it out for myself. I've had a whole year of close observation, after all. 1976 has proven very enlightening when it comes to John Steed."

"Really?" Steed looked intrigued, eyes dancing mischievously. "Do tell."

Purdey had no intention of giving her hard-won information away that easily, but she might have thrown him a few tidbits if at that moment the door hadn't flown open. Mike Gambit burst in, quickly slamming the door behind him. Purdey and Steed regarded him in bemusement as he pressed his back to the door, a panicked look in his eye. His tie was askew, and there was a smudge on his face that looked suspiciously like lipstick, though whoever the original wearer had been, she'd missed her target, as the smear was at least an inch away from his mouth. Purdey looked from him to Steed, and raised an ironic eyebrow.

"While we're on the subject, I've been learning a fair bit about someone else, too. Mike Gambit, what on earth are you doing?"

"It's that girl from C5," Gambit hissed. "Someone must have invited her, because she's been here an hour, and hasn't let me out of her sights once."

Purdey looked thoughtful. "Is she the one with buck teeth?"

Gambit nodded frantically. "That's her."

"She's been trying to get her hands on you for months," Purdey exclaimed, not even bothering to contain her amusement at his predicament.

"Yeah, well, with the magic of Advocaat she's finally managed it," Gambit muttered ruefully. "Several hands, actually. I'm going to be finding bruises in uncomfortable places for days."

Purdey's laugh of delight was joined by Steed's chuckle, and Gambit's face turned a shade of red that complemented the lipstick.

"Thanks for the sympathy," he said sarcastically. "Now shut it before she hears—damn!" The doorknob was already turning, and there was no lock. Gambit looked frantically about the room for an escape route, but there was none. As the door eased open, his only option was to hide behind it, shuffling along as it moved and hoping she wouldn't peer around it and catch him in the act. Purdey and Steed soon found themselves faced with the infamous girl from C5 on one side of the door, and a very worried Mike Gambit on the other. The girl peered around the room vaguely, seeking out her target, before turning her attention to Purdey and Steed.

"You haven't seen Gambit around, have you?" she wanted to know. "I could swear that I saw him come in here."

"Um..." Purdey was desperately trying not to laugh as Gambit gesticulated wildly at them, shaking his head and drawing a finger across his throat for emphasis. It was so tempting to leave him to his fate and watch the show, but she wasn't that cruel. "No. Sorry. Steed?"

"I'm afraid not," Steed agreed, taking pity on his younger colleague. "Perhaps he went down to Files. He spends a fair amount of time there."

The C5 girl cheered up at this revelation. "Thanks!" she enthused, and dashed off to continue her search, closing the door behind her. Gambit slumped against the wall and sighed with relief before moving to join them at the table.

"She nearly had me," he told his colleagues, loosening his tie as he sat down. "Some bright boy decided to put up some mistletoe, and I ended up backed into a corner. I barely escaped with my dignity intact."

"I wouldn't rely on that," Purdey giggled, pointing at the smudge with her chin. "I think she got you."

Gambit wiped at the smudge and groaned. "Near miss," he muttered, and extracted a handkerchief to clean it off.

"Well, at least I'm not the only one being chased," Purdey said, taking the handkerchief and wiping the stain off herself.

"Eh?"

"Purdey's been receiving more than her share of unwelcome advances," Steed explained. "She's come here seeking refuge."

"Oh," Gambit managed around the handkerchief. "Sorry. I forgot this is your first Ministry Christmas party. I should have known they'd be all over you."

"I've managed somehow," Purdey said with a sigh, finishing with the handkerchief and handing it back to its owner. "But I would enjoy having at least one drink without having to dodge any more wandering hands."

"Or lips," Gambit muttered ruefully.

"That can be arranged," Steed said with a smile, rising from his chair. "If you retrieve your coats and convene in front of the building in ten minutes' time, I think I may be able to arrange for a table for three for dinner."

"And a drink or two?" Gambit looked hopeful.

"Of course."

Gambit met Purdey's eyes, saw the same spark of enthusiasm in his reflected in her own. "Come on then, Purdey-girl. We'll have to make a run for it."


	2. 1978

Winter Warmers

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**1978**

_Cold_. That was the first, only, all-encompassing sensation Gambit experienced when he came round. Numbing cold, the sort that cut straight through cloth and flesh, right into the bone. There was wind, too, whistling frigidly past his ear, but no other sound that he was aware of. That, combined with the chilly dampness of his clothes, meant he was outside. He couldn't recall how he'd come to be there, or why, but enough time had passed for his eyelids to have frozen shut, and it took more energy than he would have liked to pry them open again. The view he was rewarded with was hardly worth the effort—a bleak, monochromatic landscape, interrupted by the odd cloud of flakes blowing past before disappearing in a wintery mist. He didn't recognise it, but then there was very little to recognise, and his desire to go exploring was at an all-time low. At some level, the logical, survival-oriented part of his brain knew that the best thing to do would be to stand up and start moving, to get the blood flowing into the appendages before they fell victim to frostbite, and the rest of his body lapsed past the point of no return. But another, increasingly dominant part wanted nothing more than to sleep, to lie there and welcome the comforting blackness barking at his heels. He could hardly feel the cold by this point, anyway, and he was so tired. So very, very tired...

_Sleep, sleep..._

His eyes were sliding shut, and he was ready to heed the call, when his frozen ears picked up a small sound: the unmistakable crunch of snow beneath a boot, followed quickly by another. And another. Gambit mustered up the last of his energy to open an eye again, and was rewarded by the sight of a dark figure materialising out of the fog, like a Christmas ghost of old. It moved quickly, the snow barely making a dent in its pace, heading straight for him. The instinctive part of Gambit's brain urged him to prepare to defend himself should the figure prove unfriendly, but there was no energy left for that, either. He settled for the wait-and-see approach—maybe whoever it was would help him, or put him out of his misery, or do something more proactive than his current plan of freezing to death. Positive thinking. That was about all he could manage at this point.

The figure drew near, fell to its knees beside him, sending up a fine spray of ice crystals over his face. Gentle hands reached out and took him by the shoulder, used the leverage to roll him over. Gambit flopped onto his back with little grace, straining against the snowflakes stinging his eyes to try and identify the newcomer, but the face was swathed in a scarf, and he couldn't make out any of the features. Whoever it was scanned his visage with extreme efficiency, then gripped his wrist urgently.

"Mike!" a voice exclaimed, and despite the wind, he could tell there was something familiar about it, but his poor frozen brain was at a loss as to what it was. The other person seemed to realise this, because suddenly the scarf was pulled away, and a face was very close to his. At this new distance, even Gambit's frozen lids could open enough to take in the pair of bright blue eyes meeting his. "Mike, it's me!" the voice said insistently.

Somewhere, beyond the fog, something clicked. "Purdey...?" he hazarded, almost afraid to hope.

Purdey smiled in relief. "That's right," she confirmed. "Hang on, we're going to get you warm again." She reached down and unhooked a radio from her belt, hit the transmit button. "Steed, I've found him. We're just off the road at the bend a mile or so from the intersection. They must have thrown him out of the car, and he rolled the rest of the way."

"I'm on my way," Steed's voice crackled in reply. "Keep him warm until then."

"Of course," Purdey confirmed with a slight smile, then returned the radio to her belt.

"Are you real?" Gambit whispered. He knew he could easily be in a coma by this point, and Purdey was just the sort of thing his mind was liable to conjure up before it shut down completely.

Purdey didn't answer, just leaned down and gave him a kiss. To her, it probably felt like she was putting her lips to a pair of ice cubes, but to Gambit it was an explosion of warmth that started in his lips, and shot straight down his spine into his core. By the time she broke away, he thought he might survive this after all.

"Did that feel real?" she inquired, and she was pleased to see a ghost of a smile on the frozen lips.

"Dunno," came the faint response. "Better do it again, just to be sure."

"Maybe later. There are other parts of you that need warming first." Purdey was relieved. If Gambit was still alert enough to flirt, that meant she wasn't going to lose him to hypothermia after all, the way she'd been fearing in the two hours since he'd gone off the grid. She found his hands where they were half-buried under the snow that had slid on top of him from the hill above. Thankfully he was still wearing his gloves, but she started unbuttoning her coat anyway. "Here, put your hands on my chest."

"Couldn't you have picked a better time to ask?" Gambit quipped, before the cold air got to his lungs, and he started to cough. Purdey wrapped her arms around him, managed to drag him into a sitting position with his chest pressed against hers, and pulled her coat around his sides as far as it would go.

"If we were anywhere else, I wouldn't need to ask," she pointed out, with just a touch of humour in her voice. It wouldn't do to quash him completely—he needed some reason to stay alive, after all.

But he was starting to see the serious side now. "You'll freeze with your coat open," he murmured, shifting uneasily against her.

"And you'll freeze even more if I leave it closed," she shot back. "You need to warm up, and body heat will do that better than anything."

"But I can't let you—" he protested.

"You can and you will," Purdey cut in, in no mood to argue. "Honestly, Mike Gambit, I know your first instinct is to protect everyone else first and yourself second, but can we put your masochistic tendencies to one side for once and admit that I'm fine, and you're the one who's in terrible shape and needs protecting?"

She could tell he was suitably chastened by the way she could feel his jaw working. A moment later, she felt his frozen hands fold between them and press against her sweater. "Sorry," he said gruffly. "Force of habit."

"Never mind," she murmured back, hugging him closer, softening now that he was cooperating. "I know you mean well, but there are limits. And anyway, you know I'd never forgive you if you went and died only three days into 1978." She felt a smirk tug at her lips. "And my mother certainly wouldn't forgive you for not honouring your promise to make an honest woman out of me."

"I'm sure she'd find someone else to step in in a pinch," Gambit said wryly, voice muffled by her sweater. "She's probably got half a dozen suitable candidates lined up in stand-by."

Purdey's smirk broadened to a grin. She wouldn't put it past her mother to press someone else into service if the need arose. There'd been one too many last-minute invitees to various family gatherings for her to doubt her mother's ability to dredge up a suitor on short notice. "Who's to say anyone would have me?" she replied, laying on the pathos. "By now everyone knows you've ruined me."

Gambit's snort was sarcastic, and definitely not gentlemanly. "Purdey, you know I love you, but even I'm not starry-eyed enough to believe you were pure as the driven snow before I came along."

"So cynical. Is this your way of getting me to leave you for dead in a snow drift?"

"You can try. You may have to leave your sweater behind, though." She could feel his fingers gather up a handful of the wool. "How long have I been missing?"

"Two hours," Purdey told him. "Do you remember making the exchange?"

"I remember handing over the money and taking the papers, if that's what you mean," Gambit replied, pulling away slightly so he could look at her. "Radcliffe delivered, too—I only got a quick look, but they were the genuine article. Then he got a call on his car phone—someone must have tipped him off that I wasn't as disreputable as I made out, because next thing I knew his heavies were laying into me." Purdey winced, and he smiled crookedly to allay her fears. "The snow has its advantages—everything's been iced. I can't feel a blessed thing."

"That may change once we warm you up," Purdey warned with a sigh. "Anything broken?"

"Don't think so. They seemed more interested in getting rid of me and saving their own skins than beating intel out of me, especially since I wasn't being particularly cooperative. They injected me with something to keep me quiet, then decided to take a long drive into the country to find someplace remote to dump me. Last I remember is passing out in the car. They must've thrown me out not long after. Don't know how long I've been lying out here, but I had snow on top of me. Probably kept me insulated."

"Probably," Purdey agreed. She didn't like to think about the way he looked, lying there in the snow, unmoving, and her with no idea if he was alive or dead. He'd been so pale, the snow had looked vibrant in comparison. Only now was some of the colour returning to his cheeks, but there were still snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes, and his lips were too pale for comfort. She wished Steed would hurry up.

"Damn!"

"What?" Purdey jerked with surprise. "Gambit, what is it?"

"They took the papers back," Gambit muttered, angrily. "I've only just remembered. Heaven knows where they've gone. Radcliffe could be anywhere by now."

"Never mind that now," Purdey dismissed. "We'll find some other way to get them."

"Steed won't be happy about it. Or McKay."

"Neither Steed nor McKay is going to be responsible for defrosting you, either," Purdey pointed out, "so I don't think they'll complain too much."

"Oh, really. And whose job is it?" Gambit looked very interested in the answer.

"Mine," Purdey asserted, "and before you ask, I never discuss my methods. You'll just have to wait and see."

"No hints?" Gambit was looking more animated all the time, and Purdey knew, finally, that he was going to be all right.

"Not one." A car horn distracted them both. "That's Steed," Purdey identified, waving at the tall silhouette alighting from the Jaguar. "Come on, let's get you where it's warm.


	3. 1980

Winter Warmers

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**1980**

Mike Gambit leaned forward in his chair so his elbows would have something to brace against while his hands scrubbed at his face. Echoing tinnily over the police station's sound system, Noddy Holder was shredding his vocal chords declaring, "IT'S CHRISSSSSSSSSTMASSSSSSSSS!" to any and all who cared to listen, causing Gambit's hands to transfer from his face to his temples. Normally he didn't mind a touch of the glam rocker and the rest of Slade, but he hadn't slept much the last few nights, and the long drive on icy roads up to this particularly remote northern town hadn't done much for his impending migraine. He hoped the desk sergeant would hurry up, but it was clear at this time of year, a mere week before Christmas, that the station was painfully understaffed. The only other person he'd seen thus far was a junior officer currently filling in on phone duty, and scribbling frantically on a pad on the overburdened desk. The desk, like the rest of the station, had been half-heartedly decorated for the season, and Gambit wondered how it was that a few strands of thin, unravelling tinsel and some sparse faux tree branches festooned about the place could actually make the place seem less Christmassy than if they hadn't bothered putting anything up at all.

Noddy Holder had given way to Wizzard by this point, informing Gambit that he wished it could be Christmas every day. _Not if it's like today, I don't_, Gambit's sleep-deprived brain growled in response. He desperately needed a pick-me-up of some kind, but he'd consumed so much cheap coffee on the way up here, his stomach recoiled at the thought.

The door next to the front desk creaked open, and the desk sergeant reappeared, followed by an uncharacteristically rumpled Steed. The senior agent squinted at Gambit as though he were having difficulty focussing, then his eyebrows shot upwards as he made a positive identification. "Gambit! What on earth are you doing all the way out here?"

"Bailing you out. Sort of." Bailing involved money changing hands, but the only thing Gambit had handed over was his official ID, and the desk sergeant's eyes had gotten almost comically wide before he disappeared to comply with Gambit's request.

"I'm officially turning him over to you," the sergeant said to Gambit. "Whatever happens now is none of my concern. Right?"

Gambit nodded, once, in confirmation. "Right. And remember: off the record. We were never here."

"Suits me," the sergeant replied nervously, beckoning to the young constable. They both left with unseemly haste, clearly wanting to disassociate themselves from the whole affair as soon as possible. Which suited Gambit, and no doubt Steed, just fine.

"Who told you I was here?" Steed wanted to know, reaching a steadying hand out to rest against the wall.

Gambit frowned at the uncharacteristic gesture. "You did," he informed as he rose to his feet. "Three hours ago. Told us you'd been done for drunken driving up near the Scottish border, though you were slurring so badly, it was hard to make out. Purdey answered the phone and nearly rang off because she didn't recognise your voice." The frown deepened with concern. "Don't you remember?"

"No," Steed said frankly, passing a hand over his forehead. "Last I knew, I was at a Christmas party. A minute later, I was waking up in the drunk tank. They told me I was going to stay the night to dry out if my 'friend' didn't turn up. Should have known it'd be you."

"Well, what are friends for? You'd do the same for me. And have." Gambit quirked a smile at him, but the eyes were worried. "I can't say I'm not surprised, though. I know you can drink most everyone under the table, but I've never known you to try driving home after the fact. That doesn't sound like you."

"It doesn't," Steed agreed. "And it wasn't. I mean, I didn't." He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it. "I wouldn't have tried to come home if I thought I was compromised."

"So you must have felt all right when you left," Gambit deduced. "Whose party was it, anyway?"

"Major Arthur Lorne's. We knew each other during the war. He doesn't travel well, and I haven't seen him in several years. I promised him I'd come up North this Christmas for his party."

"And how many drinks do you remember having?"

"Two," Steed said with confidence. "And some cranberry juice. No more. I knew I had to tread carefully if I was going to make the drive home." He closed his eyes again. "Unless I've had more and forgotten..."

"Never mind," Gambit cut in, already drawing conclusions but wanting to be sure. "Who else was there?"

Steed let out a long breath and looked upwards as he did a mental tally. "A dozen or more others from our old Army regiment. Some of their wives. Lorne's family."

"Anyone in our business?"

"One or two. Army Intelligence. MI6. Some ex-Ministry. Retired or desk-bound mostly."

"That doesn't mean anything," Gambit said knowingly, jaw working anxiously. "I think you were drugged."

Steed squinted at him "Do you?"

"It makes more sense than you downing one too many," Gambit went on. "Especially since you don't seem to remember anything past two glasses." He stepped in close to the senior agent, took a good look at his eyes, then inhaled deeply. "You don't smell like you're sloshed, either, and after heaven knows how many, ah, enthusiastic evenings out, I should be able to tell. And you've sobered up a little too quickly to be believable. How do you feel?"

"Fuzzy," Steed admitted truthfully. "Everywhere—brain, ears, eyes. And I don't trust my balance."

"But do you _feel_ drunk?" Gambit pressed.

Steed shook his head, then immediately regretted it. "No," he admitted. "No, I don't. And I didn't when I woke up, either, or else I wouldn't have had to ask what I was in for."

"Sounds like someone wanted you out of commission for a few hours," Gambit hypothesised.

"Or dead in a ditch," Steed countered gracelessly. "Someone at the party. Must have been."

Gambit wilted a little at that. Steed had lost too many friends to death, or betrayal, or both, that it didn't seem right to keep adding to the list at this point. "Sorry, Steed," he murmured.

"It fits. It's not your fault that you can connect A to B. I probably would have sooner if my mind were clearer." Steed sighed and pushed away from the wall. "The important thing just now is to work out who wanted me compromised, and why."

"We can figure that out on the way back to London," Gambit suggested, letting Steed drape an arm over his shoulders for support. "We can wake up Kendrick while we're at it, have him run some tests so we can at least see if we're right. And let Purdey know you're back to being moderately sane."

"Ah, I'd forgotten all about Purdey."

"There you go then. Clearly you've been drugged if you've forgotten about Purdey," Gambit quipped, and felt a bit better for Steed's chuckle.

"It's the only explanation," Steed agreed, with mock-sincerity. "How is Purdey?"

"Down with a cold," Gambit said truthfully. "The baby picked something up, and then Purdey caught it. She probably would have tagged along otherwise. I haven't succumbed yet, but you may not want to let me breathe on you."

"I'll take my chances," Steed said tiredly. "Thanks for coming, Mike."

"Well, it is Christmas," Gambit reminded, as they staggered out into the snow.


	4. 1984

Winter Warmers

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**1984**

Steed crept quietly into the hospital room, taking great care not to disturb Gambit, quietly snoring in a chair by the hospital bed. For a moment, Steed thought the bed's occupant was asleep as well, but after a moment or two, blue eyes opened and regarded him with weary interest.

"I'm sorry, Purdey," Steed apologised, not bothering to whisper. Trying to be quiet would be more likely to engage Gambit's sixth sense and wake him than everyday noises would. "Did I wake you?"

"No, no you didn't." Purdey shifted against the pillows and indicated for Steed to have a seat on the opposite side of the bed from where Gambit was dozing. "I'm having trouble sleeping after all the excitement today."

"I'm not surprised," Steed opined, setting bowler and brolly at the foot of the bed and pushing the chair closer to Purdey before taking his seat. "Delivering a child ten days before Christmas is one thing. Going into labour in the middle of a Ministry lockdown is quite another."

Purdey wrinkled her nose at that. "You'd think as agents we'd have better timing, wouldn't you?"

"Timing isn't in it," Steed disagreed. "Not when you've no way of predicting the event in question to begin with. I know Kendrick's surgery may seem a rather inauspicious start to a life, but as far as I'm concerned, the important thing is that everyone came through the whole chain of events healthy and intact. These things can go wrong at the best of times, and you managed admirably in less than ideal circumstances."

"Yes, a building with an enemy agent on the loose is less-than-ideal," Purdey agreed wryly. "I suppose we should count ourselves lucky we were there dropping off Gambit's lab results before the holidays. The surgery at least had some accoutrements. I don't think we'd have been quite as successful if we'd had to make do in Files."

Steed chuckled. "I have infinite faith in your abilities, my dear. And Gambit's, of course."

"Well, all he really had to do was catch," Purdey said with a smile, seeing the funny side to the whole ordeal. "Though the way he's sleeping now, you'd think he was the one who gave birth. But I suppose I'm not giving him enough credit—he was remarkably level-headed about it all, once he'd finished uttering every swear word he picked up at sea. I shudder to think what the baby will say when she starts talking."

"No doubt she'll be just as eloquent," Steed opined, rising and moving to inspect the tiny occupant of the cot on the opposite end of the room, where Gambit was still blissfully sleeping the evening away. "Have you thought of a name?"

"Emily," Purdey supplied, without hesitation. "She's called Emily."

Steed arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Not after _the_ Emily?"

"She turned up in the least-likely of places and put us in some very difficult situations," Purdey said brightly. "What else could we do but name her after that exasperating car?"

"What indeed?" Steed agreed with a chuckle. "I don't expect you'll ever end up running through a car wash with her."

"I'm not ruling it out," Purdey said flatly. "She'll probably get into all sorts of trouble."

"Like her mother before her, no doubt," Steed said knowingly, allowing Emily's tiny fist to curl around his index finger. "The resemblance is uncanny."

"Steed, are you suggesting that I was anything less than a sweet, docile child?"

"Of course not, my dear. But your mother has regaled me with several, ah, eventful stories over the years about your childhood exploits."

"Oh, those." Purdey rolled her eyes expansively. "Mum's been dining out on those for years. You'd think I did nothing but hang from the rafters and fall out of trees. I'll have you know I was extremely well-behaved." She paused, then added, "For the most part. And anyway, her older siblings haven't burned down the house or anything."

"Not yet, no," Steed agreed, "though to be fair, some of them are still too short to reach the drawers containing matches."

Purdey blushed a little. "Yes, well, keep in mind that Gambit's genes are floating around in there, too."

"I am. I think the combination will keep things...interesting." Steed smiled down at the baby girl squirming impatiently in the cot, as though already keen to go on her first adventure. "Leaving that aside, are you still planning on returning to full-time Ministry work next year?"

Purdey nodded, serious now. "Just as soon as Emily's not so dependent." She bit her lip. "Does that mean you'll be taking over for McKay soon, then?"

"Yes," Steed confirmed, breaking away from Emily and returning his attention to her mother. "And Gambit will take over my position, as agreed."

"He's already converting one of the guest rooms into an office," Purdey said, with a fond smile at the still-sleeping Gambit. "He keeps insisting he's going to enjoy working from home and holding down the fort, but I know he's going to miss going into the field so often."

"I expect he will," Steed agreed. "But Gambit's intelligent enough to recognise what's important and hang onto it. As, I hope, we all are."

"He is," Purdey murmured, feeling tears well up unexpectedly. "But it's never going to be the same again, is it? The way it was. You, me, and Gambit, running assignments, just the three of us. A team."

"Oh, I suspect we'll always be a team in one form or another," Steed contradicted with a twinkle in his eye as he moved to stand near her. "I may be head of the Ministry, but that doesn't mean there won't be certain agents I give freer rein than others. Just the way I doubt Gambit will withhold certain details from me he would from McKay, or that you'll defer to either of us the way you might if we were any other senior operative. You'll have a new partner, and Gambit and I won't be with you as often, but the bonds will always be there. No change in rank or circumstance can take that away."

"I suppose."

"And all that aside, would you really wish that things had stayed the same after all these years? No promotions, no children, no progress in your relationship with Gambit?"

"No. No, of course not," Purdey objected. "It's all been for the best. I know that. But all the same, it is a bit sad." She sniffled and brushed away a tear impatiently. "It's the end of an era. It was a very good era, wasn't it?"

Steed's smile was wistful and kind. "It was indeed. But there's a little life left in it, yet. Things won't change until we officially reach 1985, and we've not even had Christmas yet."

Purdey threw her arms around Steed's neck and hugged him tight. "In that case, Happy Christmas, Steed."

"Happy Christmas, my dear."

* * *

**Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everybody!**


End file.
